Kinney Road is a sacred place for me, my own Stonehenge, my own mystical setting, a place to measure the drama and the passing of life. I first came to Kinney Road as one man, and I return as another. I did not think I would survive the pain I felt on Kinney Road those very few years ago, but I did survive. I sought what I was looking for on Kinney Road, and worked hard for it and found it. I took my first photograph on Kinney Road, called my sister a million times from Kinney Road, was nearly run over on Kinney Road, threatened with a rifle on Kinney Road, fell in love on Kinney Road. Everything there has meaning for me, even the emotion of this farm truck pointed into the sunset, waiting for the next day, the next opportunity to find a soul and keep it shining.
I seek to be the leader of my life. To make my own decisions. To take my own advice, and then, when it is appropriate, to listen to wise words of others. To not argue my life, or defend it. I want to inspire me, to provide my own direction, moral grounding. To be my own compass, guiding myself along a path I choose.
I do not seek political leaders who will tell me how to live, or economists telling me what I should have, or doctors deciding what it means for me to be healthy, or religious leaders telling me what to read or say. I do not want the muddy water of conventional wisdom to cloud my head, or the lurching of the mob from one place to another to sway me. I do not accept the picture of the world presented on the news. I do not seek advice or seek to present my life in terms of struggle, drama and suffering.
More and more I am making the decisions that govern my life. Reclaiming my soul. Finding out who I am. Great joy and fun and satisfaction in that. For 30 years, I took drugs to sleep. Last night, I went to sleep at 9 p.m. and got up at 7.
Leadership is complex. We share our lives with countless strangers and find it hard to even get to know ourselves. I do know this. You cannot be a leader in your life if you do not get to know who you are.
Maria and I have begun clearing out stuff we don’t want or need from the farmhouse. We haven’t sold the farm yet or bought a new home, but we are moving forward. We know we want to leave and we know where we want to go, and that’s a good place to be. It will happen, in its own time and way.
Moving definitely opens one up. It is painful for me to face the past, tough for me to throw out all of the stuff I bought that I didn’t need – boots, parkas, lens filters and boxes of books I never got to read. I spent a lot of money, and I was beating myself up about that, and then decided not to.
Looking back, like nostalgia, or poor-me stories, is a trap for me, really. I did the best I could. I did a lot.I bought this wonderful farm, fixed it up, wrote a bunch of books, started taking photos, faced myself and my life, got divorced, met Maria. Do I wish I could change some of these things? I guess, sure. I wish I didn’t cause so much damage. But that’s a fairly pointless exercise also. I decided to be grateful for all of the things I got as I tossed them into bags – the dumpster is coming tomorrow. I am grateful for my life, and it begins anew each day. I have the chance to live a full life each day. A life with love, work, meaning, nature, animals, photography, friends. And more and more, peace of mind, perhaps the most precious of them. The past doesn’t really matter, and isn’t really relevant. In some ways, it is just another struggle story. So I’ll drop it.
So am looking back at my life, not with shame, not with embarrassment or regret, but with pride, honesty and acceptance. Like everyone reading this, I did the best I could. I will not spend much time looking back. Every morning, Maria and I decided how will begin our lives anew, together, on the New Bedlam Farm. As much as I love this one, the next one will be even better. That is better than looking back.
